


Bug the Magnificent

by Captainraychill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Decorations, F/M, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captainraychill/pseuds/Captainraychill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Head Boy Draco Malfoy and Head Girl Hermione Granger fight over Christmas decorations.  Oh, and Draco falls in love with a holly fairy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bug the Magnificent

**Author's Note:**

> I am so grateful for the opportunity to write for D/Hr Advent this year! My prompt was holly. Thank you so much to my lovely beta, UnseenLibrarian, and to our mods. I hope that your holiday is filled with love and happiness. Merry Christmas!

**BUG THE MAGNIFICENT**

 

**THE FIGHT**

“Holly!”

“Crystal!”

“Holly!”

“Crystal!”

Hermione Granger stared scornfully at Draco Malfoy’s concept of holiday décor. The Heads’ Common Room was a winter palace, dripping with icy crystals. Knife-like, cold and colorless. Even the hearth fire was palest blue. Hols at the Manor must be as cozy as an icicle up the arse. 

“Holly!” 

Coppery sparks sizzled, and the room transformed into a red-and-green wonderland, festive with holly and warm with candles. An evergreen tree was trimmed with twinkling lights, ornaments and garland. And the fire was fire-colored. So much better. 

“Granger, were you raised in a barn? That tree skirt looks like a horse blanket. Crystal!”

“Malfoy, are you an ice princess? Should I conjure you a pretty tiara? Holly!”

“I refuse to host a party in a room gaudier than Trelawney!”

“No, you’d rather freeze everyone’s bits off on a glacial sofa!”

“You know I’m going to win so you should just give up!”

“Never!”

“Crystal!”

“Holly!”

“Crystal!”

“Holly!”

This intelligent discussion continued until McGonagall’s silvery cat Patronus leapt through a wall and ordered a cease fire. Sparks had blown open the door to their balcony and were raining, six stories down, into the Black Lake. The Giant Squid had protested by sinking the first year boats. 

“I expect you to personally raise those boats out of the frozen depths by noon tomorrow,” the glowing cat said sternly. “The Merpeople might interpret this as an act of war.”

With that, the ghostly cat exited through another wall. Hermione scooped Crookshanks up into her arms. 

“Lake,” she snapped. “Eleven o’clock tomorrow.”

“Have fun swimming in December. In Scotland.”

“Lake! Eleven o’clock! Tomorrow!” 

As Hermione marched past Draco, Crookshanks hissed. 

 

**THE ICE**

Draco felt restless after Hermione slammed the door to her quarters. Most of their arguments ended like this, with her storming upstairs - her cheeks pink, her skirt swinging like a bell on Sunday and her dark hair crackling with fascinating, red flashes of magic. Trying to sleep would be useless. He’d just lie in bed, feeling feverish. Wanking once or twice usually took the raw edge off his emotions. 

“Crystal,” he whispered. The room became tasteful again. He was _not_ an ice princess, and Granger could bloody well dredge up those boats alone.

Once in bed, Draco cast a reflexive Silencing Charm and proceeded with Wank Number One. It was an angry wank, quick and intense. After the bright rush of climax, he felt blissful and lazy. A moment later, his mind supplied the solution to his holly problem.

Brilliant! He grinned, anticipating the shock on Hermione’s face. 

Wank Number Two was a slow fire that smoldered for half an hour before it flared into a long, breathtaking orgasm. Draco cried out when he came, mindless with pleasure yet, somehow, still thinking of Hermione’s face.

///

At dawn, Draco sent an owl to his mother, asking about his talented Great Aunt Walburga. That afternoon, he heard Hermione practically growl the Heads’ Dorm password.

“Goodness, dear!” exclaimed the portrait of the Lady in Yellow. “You look positively savage.”

Draco smiled and tweaked one of Crookshanks’ ears. The half-Kneazle stood up, gave a shivering stretch and hopped off the sofa. Draco cast a quick spell to remove ginger hair from his clothes. All this was a well-rehearsed routine. Appearances must be maintained. 

When Hermione stomped into the room, Draco burst out laughing. She did look savage. Strands of seaweed were braided through her bushy hair, and she held a primitive spear.

“Shut it!” she snapped. “Because of you, I’m now Hogwarts’ ambassador to the Mer kingdom at the bottom of the lake. In December. In Scotland.”

“You speak Mermish?”

“Only a few expletives I learned today.”

“Really? How do you say _fuck_ in -” 

“Not another word, Malfoy, or I will skewer your heart!”

Draco considered speaking two more words: “Congratulations, Ambassador.” Instead, he remained silent, waiting for his enemy to realize that she’d been conquered.

Hermione grabbed Crookshanks and flounced upstairs. Before she slammed her door, her gaze swept over the Common Room. It was the sparkling crystal that Draco preferred. She shifted Crooks to her spear arm, drew her wand and shouted, “Holly!”

The room remained white, shimmering and beautiful.

She frowned. “Holly!”

She dropped the spear and Crooks. “Holly! Holly! HOLLY!” 

_Crystal._

Draco didn’t speak. After all, she’d threatened him with a good skewering if he did. He just let victory glitter in his not-uncrystalline eyes.

Hermione glared at him, her dark eyes furious and red sparks flashing like lightning through her plaits. Draco felt the heat of triumph curl in his abdomen. His skin was hot, and his heart beat fast. Aunt Walburga’s powerful Permanent Sticking Charm (with some diluting adjustments) held strong. 

He had won.

He winked at Hermione, then reclined and pretended to nap on the sparkling pillows of his glacial sofa (which was actually quite comfortable). Hermione made a shrill screeching noise, and Draco wondered, with delight, if he’d just been called an “arse” in Mermish.

///

When Hermione had learned Draco was Head Boy, her heart had plummeted. Three hours into their tenure, they’d fought about division of responsibilities. She’d never been part of such a ferocious argument, standing nose to nose and screaming with fury. The conflict had left her trembling and tense. She couldn’t sleep, her skin hot under the sheets. The next morning, only a well-placed showerhead and a bone-melting orgasm had allowed her to relax. 

After her third argument with Draco, Hermione noticed something curious. Clearly, he was enraged with her - his gray eyes blazing and his cheeks flushing pink – but he didn’t call her a Mudblood or even a Muggle-born. Blood was never mentioned. It was no longer a consideration. 

Somehow, Malfoy’s core beliefs had changed. 

Two days after their latest fight, the Heads’ Common Room was still a silvery ice palace. Hermione couldn’t reverse, transfigure, melt, sublimate, shatter, bombard or reduce the crystalline décor. She couldn’t even mask it behind her vision of the perfect, cozy Christmas with candles and holly. 

She could have decorated her private quarters to her liking, but that would be admitting defeat. She refused to yield. The Heads’ holiday party for professors, prefects and Eighth Years was only a week away. That was her deadline to outwit Malfoy and win. 

And win she would, by any means, which was why she shrank herself to the size of Pygmy Puff and dedicated an afternoon to spying on Draco from a bookshelf in the Common Room. If she was lucky, he would reveal some clue to help her Vanish his ice. 

When he entered the dorm after lunch, her heart gave a leap. He went to his quarters for five minutes, then returned with one of his useless Quidditch magazines and flopped onto an icy couch.

Flopped? Draco Malfoy never _flopped_. He sat, reclined or leaned indolently with lanky grace. 

But not only did he flop, he _grunted_ when he flopped! Draco Malfoy had grunted like a pig.

Grinning, Hermione sat on a stack of books to watch her flopping, grunting roommate read his magazine. He acted differently when alone and unobserved. He didn’t sneer or smirk or wear a look of jaded contempt. She’d caught glimpses of Draco’s rare, unguarded expressions before, glancing at him across the Common Room as they studied separately, in silence. But now, his face was a _natural_ she’d never seen before and very handsome. He laughed at something he read, and Hermione’s stomach quivered. That was strange.

A moment later, Crookshanks meowed, trotting across the room toward Draco.

“Kick my cat, and I will hurt you,” Hermione muttered.

“Fuck off,” Draco said dispassionately.

After Crooks meowed five more times, Draco sighed. “Fine, you fat, old, dirty, Weasley-colored carpet. Come up.”

_Come up?_

The instant Draco tossed away the magazine, Crooks jumped onto his chest. Draco grunted again.

Astonished, Hermione watched as her pet snuggled with the enemy, purring loudly. Draco turned on the wireless with his wand, stroked Crooks’ ginger fur and started to doze. Ten minutes later, after another meow, he summoned a house-elf and asked her to bring Crooks his usual.

 _His usual?_

These were cubes of baked chicken, strawberry yogurt and a porcelain bowl filled with cream.

“You fluffy, little traitor,” Hermione murmured. When she returned to her proper size, she’d kick Crooks herself. Her cat and Draco were liars, both of them - all the hisses, proclamations of hate and death threats mere bluster.

Somehow, in addition to outgrowing his bigotry, Draco Malfoy had grown a heart.

 _A heart I can exploit_ , Hermione thought with a wicked smile.

 

**THE GIFT**

“What is that?” Draco asked with disdain.

“A gift,” Hermione answered. 

Draco gazed warily at the box in her palm. It was a green pyramid about six inches tall. White ribbon and a sprig of holly decorated the top. 

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I don’t want to fight anymore, Malfoy. It’s exhausting. You win. We’ll live in this ice palace for Christmas.”

Draco stared at Hermione, suspicious. She had never backed down from a battle in her entire life. Well, he was ready for whatever amateur tricks she had planned. There was only one Slytherin in this room, and it wasn’t Ambassador Granger.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said, flashing his charming, boyish smile. Draco had many smiles, and he knew how to use them all to his advantage. 

Hermione smiled back, blushing, and Draco felt his heart slam in his chest. That was strange. When he reached for the green box, it moved, teetering side to side. That was also strange. The box jerked again, and he heard a faint, high-pitched _eeep_.

“You’d better hurry,” Hermione said. “I think she’s impatient.”

 _She_?

Intrigued, Draco took the now-shuddering box out of Hermione’s hand and tugged one end of the white ribbon. The four sides of the pyramid fell away to reveal a tiny girl with glittering, pale green wings. Realizing she’d been freed, she let out a joyous “Eeep!” and fluttered up into the air. She was dressed in red and green and was barely larger than a hummingbird.

“A fairy?” Draco said, disbelieving. 

“A holly fairy. Isn’t she beautiful? Well, Happy Christmas, Draco. I’m off to Arithmancy.” Hermione was gone before he could blink. 

Draco studied the holly fairy, who seemed to study him. She looked like a child with an elfish face and wavy, blonde hair. Her eyes were so tiny he couldn’t see their color. Her hands were smaller than his pinky nails. He realized her outfit declared her a holly fairy. The skirt had holly-leaf panniers, and her spiky, green collar and slippers were decorated with scarlet berries.

“Eeep eeep,” she said. Though high, the sound was pleasant and gentle.

Draco smiled without realizing it.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked.

The fairy answered by dive-bombing his face. He almost swatted her on instinct, which might have killed the fragile thing. Her bones couldn’t be any thicker than daisy stems. Instead, he relaxed his hand and captured her against his face, holding her with a soft but encompassing grip. She smelled like snow.

“Eeep! Eeep! Eeep!” She stamped her tiny feet on the bridge of his nose. _Let me go._ No translation needed.

Draco released the fairy. Instead of flitting away, she hovered near. He held still as she placed her toes on the tip of his nose and her palms just under his lower eyelashes. Her wings flapped slowly. He stared at her cross-eyed and saw that her eyes were a vivid green. She gazed at him intently, first into one eye, then the other.

“Eeep,” she said, nodding briskly, before fluttering backwards.

“All right. Eeep,” Draco said, also nodding. 

The fairy rolled her eyes and snorted before flying around the room, darting with the same quick, stop-and-start movement of a Golden Snitch. She was curious about everything, but the shimmering icicles hanging from the chandelier mesmerized her. She wove through them, staring at the liquid flow of her distorted reflection.

“Oooooooooooo.”

“So, you _can_ say more than _eeep_.”

“Eeep!”

“Of course.”

Draco searched for the package she’d come in, hoping to find instructions: _The Care and Feeding of Your Bloody Holly Fairy._ The box had already been whisked away, holly sprig and all, by a silent house-elf.

“Hey, Bug!” 

The holly fairy ignored him. She’d found a superior icicle and was using it as a carnival mirror to make silly faces.

“I’m going to the library.” 

She stuck her thumbs in her ears and waggled her fingers at her elongated reflection.

“You look like a deranged reindeer.” 

Quick as a blink, she twisted around and wiggled her tiny bum at the icicle.

“Lee-lee-lee-lee-leeeeeeeee!” That was her ridiculous laugh.

“Daft bug,” Draco muttered as he left the Common Room. Again, he failed to notice that he was smiling. He also failed to notice there was a spring in his step.

/// 

The library had loaned its copy of Teegaurden’s definitive work on flora fairies to Beauxbatons, so Draco had to make do with a basic textbook. The information was sketchy at best. Two sentences into the brief description, he knew why Hermione had given him this gift.

_A holly fairy thrives in the presence of holly. It will become listless when deprived of its namesake plant._

“Ha!” Draco shouted, earning a tyrannical hush from Pince.

“Clever, Granger,” he murmured. “But you still lose.” Then and there, he swore not to allow a single sprig of holly into the dorm until after the Heads’ Christmas party this Saturday. He didn’t care how listless Bug became. He pulled a piece of parchment from his bag to take notes.

_Though it looks and acts like a child (no shit) a holly fairy may live more than 1000 years (Bug the Immortal). A common trait among fairies associated with evergreen plants._

_Highly perceptive. Will stare into a person’s eyes upon first contact (done). If a fairy deems a person worthy, she may choose to remain in his company (I am so worthy) often until said person’s death (oh shit). Holly fairies immediately flee from dark souls (i.e., Moldy Voldy)._

_Fairy may accept a state of domestication because it loves certain luxuries. For example, survives on berries, leaves and dew in the wild but prefers other food when “tamed” – including salted peanuts, marshmallows and beer (Bug the Drunk). Can drink 20 times its weight (Bug’s weight same as one Galleon) without becoming inebriated (Take Bug to pub, place bets)._

_A holly fairy’s power and energy is strongest in wintertime, particularly near Christmas. In summer, will enter a state of near-hibernation called “torpor”._

_Playful but not malicious, staunch, loyal (damn, Hufflepuff?) emotional, empathetic, sensitive, dramatic._

_Just ask Neville Longbottom._

Draco added the last because it had been written in the margins of the book eight times.

///

Granger wasn’t home when Draco returned to the dorm after supper.

“Hey, Bug!” 

When the fairy didn’t answer, he glanced up at the icy chandelier, wondering if she was still making faces at her reflection. She wasn’t. Draco felt a frisson of panic. Where was she? What if she’d flown too close to the fire and burned to death? What if Crooks had eaten her alive? Why hadn’t he put her somewhere safe?

“Bug!” Draco shouted. “Crookshanks!”

“EEEEEEP!!!”

Crookshanks galloped across the Common Room floor, faster than Draco had ever seen him move. Bug sat on top of the cat’s head, her tiny hands clutching tufts of his ginger fur. The holly berry on her pointed collar bounced merrily. Draco felt a rush of relief.

“Eeep EEEEEEP!!!”

At his rider’s signal, Crooks began to bound on icy sofas and tabletops with surprising agility. The look on Bug’s face was pure joy. She never lost her grip. When the cat took a particularly daring leap off a wingback chair, she lifted one arm into the air and squealed.

“Wheeeeeeee!” 

That was when Draco realized that Bug was a Gryffindor and that he had fallen a little bit in love with her.

///

True to the text, Bug loved salted peanuts, marshmallows and beer, which she drank out of a thimble. One night, Draco watched her down thirty thimbles full in two hours. She never appeared drunk, but she did belch after every drink (tiny, sweet, delicate belches) which made them both laugh until they cried. He couldn’t _wait_ to take her to the pub and place a few bets. She’d drink them all, even Zabini, under the table.

She never lost her fascination with her reflection, especially if it was distorted. Draco crafted a mobile of spoons for her, and she fluttered around it for hours, making silly faces at herself. Every time she saw herself upside down in the concave side of a spoon, she cooed and kicked her feet until she was upside down, too. Her other hobbies included riding Crookshanks, carving patterns in Draco’s green apples with toothpicks and jumping on things, most often a glittering, white ottoman near the fireplace. She liked soft fabric and slept in a bowl lined with one of Draco’s silk pajama tops. 

The day before the Heads’ Christmas party, Bug didn’t jump, carve apples, stare at spoons or ride Crookshanks. She refused salted peanuts, marshmallows and beer. She just lay on the white ottoman. Listless.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked. 

“Eeep,” she replied forlornly. She pointed at the red berries on her slippers and the glossy, green leaves on her skirt. _I want holly._

Draco looked down into her pleading, green eyes and felt his resolve weaken. Couldn’t he smuggle _one_ branch of holly into his private quarters? No, that would be admitting defeat, and he refused to yield. He had to win.

“Bug, you need to understand. I won an argument with Hermione Granger. That’s incredible. I can’t back down until after tomorrow night’s party. It’s only one more day.”

At that, Bug glared at him and made some complicated gesture with her hands, which he assumed was rude. Then she fluttered up into the chandelier and ignored him all night. When he didn’t see her Saturday morning, he laid out a marshmallow. After lunch, when he returned to the dorm, he heard Crookshanks’ desperate howls through the portrait entrance.

“He’s been caterwauling for hours,” complained the Lady in Yellow. “No pun intended.”

Draco shouted the password and rushed through the door. Crooks was already sprinting toward the fireplace, and Draco followed at a run. His heart thundered with dread. He hadn’t taken care of her. He’d waited too long, for the sake of his stupid pride. If she was hurt, if she… 

Crooks leapt onto the corner of Bug’s glittering, white ottoman. 

She lay upon it, pale and still, her eyes closed. The holly leaves and berries on her outfit had faded to a brittle brown. Crooks meowed again, pitifully, and nudged her tiny leg gently with his paw. She didn’t move. She didn’t breath. 

Bug was dead.

 

**THE CONVERSATION**

Hermione had told Neville about Draco’s ice palace and Bug. He’d warned her that holly fairies could thrive up to three weeks without so much as a berry. Therefore, he was surprised when Malfoy stumbled into Greenhouse #3, his eyes frantic and his hair askew, holding out both hands as if offering a healing potion to his dying mother.

“Just ask Neville Longbottom,” Draco whispered madly.

“What?”

“Tell me I haven’t killed her. Please!”

Neville gazed down at the fairy in Draco’s trembling hands. She definitely wasn’t dead. She wasn’t even sick despite her pallor and withered dress. On a hunch, Neville carefully took her little hand between his thumb and forefinger and lifted her arm two inches. When he let go, her arm remained raised, frozen in the air.

“Bloody hell,” Draco said.

 _Waxy flexibility_ , Neville thought. A classic sign of self-induced torpor in flora fairies. Seems like the cute, little thing was a more devious Slytherin than Malfoy himself. Neville decided to keep Bug’s secret. He picked her up by one foot and tossed her into a nearby holly bush.

An anguished, almost animal sound ripped from Draco’s throat, and Neville found himself thrown back against the cold greenhouse door with a wand pressed hard against his throat.

“She’s alive,” he choked out. “She’s just in a state of torpor.”

“Torpor?”

“Hibernation. Give her a minute.”

Draco stepped back quickly but lowered his wand slowly. He gazed at the holly bush with a strange mixture of despair, doubt and hope. After a moment, he began to sift through its dense growth, swearing softly as the pointy leaves pricked his skin. 

“Haven’t you read Teegauarden’s _Field Guide to Flora Fairies_?” Neville asked. 

“Loaned to Beauxbatons.”

“Ah, that explains why you have no clue. In part.”

“Care to give me a brief synopsis, Longbottom?”

Neville shared the two facts he found most interesting about holly fairies.

First, they were truth seers. That was why they stared intently into someone’s eyes upon meeting them and fled from dark souls. And it was amazing, the things they somehow just _knew_ at a glance. Memories, wishes, fears - the very heart of a person. 

Second, most flora fairies understood human speech. Because of their long lives, they often understood multiple languages. But holly fairies had the rare ability to _be_ understood, for a half hour at a time, if a human ingested one holly berry.

“But only one a day,” Neville said. “The berries can make you sick. A big handful might kill you.”

“So Bug is saying more than _eeep_?” Draco asked.

“EEEEEEEEEEP!!!”

Without warning, a flash of vivid red and green streaked out of the holly bush. It flew around the greenhouse like a Snitch, so fast it was a blur. 

“Bug!” 

Blimey. Neville had never seen Malfoy so happy. It was unsettling for the arrogant git to look… giddy. Neville would rather face Voldemort _and_ Nagini, wandless and nude, than witness a tearful reunion between Draco Malfoy and his fairy.

“Right,” he mumbled. “Plants to plant.” He grabbed a leafless, potted Shrivelfig and rushed out into the snow.

///

Bug looked magnificent. 

Her holly was fresh again, bright scarlet and glossy green. Her cheeks were pink, and her blonde hair gleamed. She glittered like winter sunlight on snow, her wings casting prismatic rainbows through the greenhouse as she flew in wild loops and swoops. 

This time, when she dive-bombed his face, Draco just closed his eyes and smiled in gratitude. He felt her wings tickle his cheeks and the delicate rain of her kisses on his nose. Not only was she alive, she’d forgiven him. He felt a lump in his throat and thanked the gods that Longbottom had run.

“Bug,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Eeep! Eeep! Eeep!”

When he opened his eyes, she was hopping on the holly bush, bouncing from leaf to leaf, turning somersaults. She paused to pluck a red berry and drop-kicked it toward him. He caught it and popped it in his mouth. It was bitter, but he chewed it thoroughly and swallowed every bit. Then he sat on a rickety chair next to Bug, who had landed on a dirt-strewn potting table.

“Eeep eeep,” she began.

“I can’t - ”

“Eeep eeep _finally pulled your head out of your arse?_.”

“Arse! I mean, yes. I understand you.”

The translation was surreal. Draco could still hear faint _eeeps_ , like a voice across the room. At the same time, inside his head, he heard English words in Bug’s soft, gentle voice.

_Excellent, my Draco, because we haven’t much time. Your Hermione needs us._

“My Hermione?” Draco’s heart beat faster. His skin flushed with a burning heat. He cast his eyes down, wondering just how much truth Bug could see.

 _I see it all, my Draco. How lonely you were. How you’re still afraid sometimes. Do not fear. You have a good heart. I would not love you if you didn’t._

Draco felt Bug’s tiny hand touch one of his knuckles. He leaned down to rest his chin against the edge of the table so they were face to face.

_I also see what you’re only just beginning to acknowledge when your heart beats faster and your blood grows hot. Remember, I’ve seen your Hermione’s truths. I looked into her eyes, too._

“I remember.”

_I know what’s in her heart, and I will tell you soon because you’re my Draco. I am loyal to you. But first, you must to know about Hermione’s mother and father and what the holly means._

 

**THE HOLLY**

Hermione had brokered a tenuous peace between the Merpeople and the Giant Squid. The Merpeople had even granted her honorary citizenship and a new name, Mal’arkwin, which roughly translated into Sparky. She should feel satisfied but didn’t.

She had lost.

Draco adored Bug. The way he looked when he was happy… it took her breath away. But he hadn’t brought a single holly leaf into the dorm, and Bug didn’t seem to miss it yet, just as Neville had predicted. Within an hour, the Heads’ Christmas party would be held in the cold, crystalline elegance of an ice palace.

“Bloody ice princess.”

Together, Hermione and Crookshanks regarded her reflection in a mirror. Her long gown was a dramatically rich red which set off her dark hair and eyes. She wore red heels, red lipstick and a defiant sprig of holly in her upswept curls. 

The Granger Family had certain Christmas traditions. Her father wore tacky holiday jumpers. Her mother used silly wrapping paper featuring surfing reindeer or Santa in pajamas. But for some reason, this year, Hermione was particularly nostalgic for holly. Every Christmas of her childhood, her mother had clipped the holly bushes in their backyard. She’d woven glossy, green wreaths and garlands bright with red berries and ribbon. She’d even placed a sprig of holly on each of their stockings. 

Now, her parents didn’t remember they had a daughter. She’d tried and failed to remind them all summer. She knew she should go see them on Christmas, that she should try again. But she was terrified of failing and of crumbling apart with grief and remorse.

Hermione glanced at the holly branch that lay on her desk. Tomorrow, she’d embellish it with pretty ribbon and give it to Bug. But now it was time to lose gracefully. She walked to her door, opened it and stepped into the Common Room.

Which was filled with holly. 

///

Draco made a mental note the thank the house-elves. Holly garlands and wreaths adorned the walls and mantle. A dozen Christmas trees made of holly grew right out of the floor like a forest. There were even holly topiaries on each tabletop – shaped like lions, snakes, badgers and eagles. It was a red-and-green hell, filled with ribbons and candles, garish and awful. But it was what Hermione needed.

Draco understood need. His mother had decorated Malfoy Manor with her shimmering, icy crystals every Christmas of his life until last year, when their home had been occupied by Voldemort. Three hours before dawn on Christmas, she had led Draco and his father up into the dark, dusty attic, where she had dared to cast her crystal spell upon a stack of trunks and discarded furniture. They had sat around the glittering light, not knowing what to say, but together.

Draco felt Bug land lightly on his shoulder and kiss his cheek.

“Eeep eeep.”

“Thank you, Bug.”

“EEEP!”

“Thank you, Bug the Magnificent.”

She had insisted he introduce her by this title at the party. She _was_ magnificent, like a queen. Her red and green gown brushed her slippers now, and she wore a crown, a slightly transfigured ruby ring from the Malfoy vaults.

“Holly.” 

Hermione’s voice made Draco’s heart give a violent thump. He turned, saw her just a few steps away and lost the ability to speak. She was gorgeous in red. When she smiled at him - her face bright with a lovely, vulnerable happiness - she became something beyond gorgeous, something he didn’t have the words to describe.

He could only think of one, rote response.

“Crystal.” 

The décor remained unchanged, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. Her smile became a sly grin. She took a step closer to him, her dark eyes gleaming with challenge.

“Holly.”

Draco felt a little foot kick his left buttock, and he took a step closer to Hermione.

“Crystal.”

“Holly.”

“Crystal.”

“Holly.”

They stood nose to nose now, so tantalizingly close to touching, the intimate stance a parody of their passionate arguments. Draco felt overcome by a seductive, dreamy bliss, as if he’d been placed under a trance that he never wanted to escape. 

“Where you raised in a barn, Granger?” he murmured, placing a possessive hand against the graceful curve of Hermione’s back. She gasped, and Draco trailed his touch slowly up her spine.

“No. Are - are you an ice princess?”

“No.” His fingers had reached the nape of her neck, teasing her soft skin with delicate strokes. Hermione’s eyes widened and then fluttered closed as her body arched against his. She made a sound Draco had only ever heard during sex, and he barely resisted the urge to throw her to the ground. 

“Granger,” he rasped. They were breath to breath now, trembling and tense, their lips grazing softly with each word. “You know I’m going to win so you should just give up.”

“Never.”

After her whisper, Hermione licked Draco’s bottom lip, and he lost all control.

///

Bug the Magnificent bounced on a holly garland, gleefully watching her Draco kiss his Hermione. He certainly didn’t waste time once he had a weapon at his disposal.

Before the berry he’d eaten had lost its power, Bug had told him how the back of Hermione’s neck was highly sensitive and that she sometimes stroked it when she pleasured herself.

“Bug!” Draco had cried out, blushing.

“My Draco. Don’t be such a lily blossom. I am 764 years old, and I -”

“And now you’re _eeeping_ again.”

Well, they could kiss until the first guests arrived and no longer. Bug was too excited about the party. She wanted to meet new people, show off her pretty crown and drink Zabini under the table, whoever Zabini was. 

Below, Draco and Hermione fell onto a sofa, gasping and moaning. Her curls had tumbled from their pins. He had red lipstick on his lips, earlobe and throat. Bug fluttered up to her spoons to make kissy faces at her reflection.

This was going to be _such_ a happy Christmas!

 

**THE END**

[](http://s1265.photobucket.com/user/Captainraychill/media/BugtheMagnificent_zps20fad4f7.jpg.html)  


**Author's Note:**

> I want to stress that this drawing of Bug is not original. Her form was traced directly from Cicely Mary Barker’s Columbine Fairy. I supplied the altered costume and color. Barker (b. 1895 – d. 1973) illustrated and wrote verse about her now-famous fairies in several books, including _A Flower Fairy Alphabet_ , which featured C for Columbine (not for cookie)........ I borrowed the name Teeguarden from an herbalist’s website. His name sounded Potter-ish to me........ Holly symbolizes truth in heraldry. This led to making holly fairies truth seers in this story.


End file.
